


Hit and Don't Run

by Progman



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Origin Story, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Progman/pseuds/Progman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Korra overslept, and thus Asami hit her with her bike.  </p><p>An officially sanctioned prequel to Sy_Itha and michellemagly's "Conflict Resolution".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit and Don't Run

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Conflict Resolution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2576237) by [Sy_Itha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sy_Itha/pseuds/Sy_Itha). 



> Little bit of background:
> 
> \- It's 2009  
> \- Korra and Asami attend UC Berkeley in the San Francisco bay area  
> \- It's the second semester of their Freshman year.  
> \- I love the fact that I can use the word "goddammit" again, because I've missed that.

Korra grumbled and rolled onto her stomach, using a large pillow for earmuffs. It was Sunday. A goddamn Sunday. In the middle of spring! Okay, it was eleven in the morning, and any self respecting person would be out and about but Korra just wanted to sleep in for once.

Just once.

But no. The universe couldn’t even grant her that, because that day apparently had one of San Francisco’s big ol’ Gay...queer...LGBTQ...fuck, whatever it was (was there a +? She heard a rumor about a +) Pride Parades. Pride was involved, that she knew for sure. And that it was a parade. Just stompin’ all over the city. Yelling and shouting and just being a general nuisance to people who were trying to catch up on sleep.

“WE’RE HERE! WE’RE QUEER! GET USED TO IT!” blasted a series of megaphones outside, probably a block over.

“...well, I’m here. I’m queer. And how can I get used to it if you won’t shut up and let me sleep,” she mumbled, issuing a retort that she thought was pretty damn clever for someone in her mental state. Korra frowned and crawled out of her bed, shuffling over to her dorm’s tiny window. She opened the shades and cranked it open, letting the mid morning sun burst into her otherwise dark room.

Birds chirped. Students milled about on bikes, longboards and other assorted forms of transportation that weren’t their own feet. Backpacks on shoulders, books in hands, lots and lots of...people around for a Sunday morn---

Korra’s eyes bugged out of her head and she raked her fingers through her long, unkempt hair. “FUCK ME IT’S MONDAY!”

“You got it, beautiful!” whistled some douche.

“Fuck off!” countered Korra, before slamming the window shut. She hopped back and forth on the balls of her feet and cringed. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit how could she have gotten the days mixed up? It was one thing to oversleep, but this? Ugh, she was so stupid.

No time to shower. Shit. Just throw on new clothes!

Go go go go go go go go goddammit.

Korra was halfway out of her top when she questioned why it was that she was so concerned about getting to class that morning. It wasn’t as if she’d do anything besides play on her phone or speak up if one of her professors decided to randomly start treating things like high school and ask her a question. Which never worked, since she was a very, very good listener, even when she wasn’t paying attention.

So why was she---

In-Class Presentation. SOCIO 287. Sociology of Globalization.

50% of her grade.

Korra jumped off the walls of her dorm room, gathering her things into her backpack frantically while mentally reciting her presentation in her head a few dozen times. Laptop goes in the front pocket; networking is often a literal term and an incidental one. Water bottle on the side-holder-thing; eye contact and proximity have just as much to do with informing someone of their intentions as verbal communication. Note cards in her left butt pocket, because the one on the right was for her keys! In the modern era, connections are made thousands of times per day, the vast majority of which are accidental and subconscious.

She rummaged through her drawers and found that one can of body spray that guy had left---wait, why was he carrying bodyspray in the first place? Who even does that---no time to think about stupid douchey guys! She sprayed it everywhere, because frankly spray deodorant wasn’t a thing she used and sort of assumed that it was like a more extreme version of perfume.

100% Coverage, and you’re golden.

Probably.

Smelled pretty good, though.

Korra kicked her door open, locked it behind her and bounded down the hallway, weaving around that weird couple that basically just fucked every hour of every day and left mountains of pizza boxes outside their door in garbage bags that smelled up the whole floor.

Christ, and that room wasn’t even a single! They were in a double! The girl had a roommate, and she was involved most of the time. She gagged, visualizing pizza used in ways that were simply not done.

If that was the ‘college experience’ Harold Ramis and the late John Belushi had tried to inform her of, they had failed fantastically. But, y’know, succeeded in every other way possible.

Animal House was amazing, and then Korra slammed straight into the security door because she’d been too busy wondering if that movie would actually do well in theaters nowadays or just bomb because it was so tied to the late 70s---holy shit Korra focus your film class is on Thursday.

“Why do we even have these?!” she growled at the fancy door, fishing into her pocket for her school I.D. Korra slid it through the scanner and yanked the heavy metal door open. Finally, mercifully, she was sprinting down the stairs. Seven flights of them because God just loooooooooooooooooooooved to fuck with Korra sometimes. Or maybe it was Jesus. Or maybe it was some giant spaghetti monster or a magical flying kite who the fuck cares Korra just get to class and don’t fail.

Korra burst out of the residence hall’s side door and was immediately hit square in the side by a skidding bicycle. She went flying, like actually Cirque du Soleil tumbling through the air, into a nearby puddle, somehow spinning the whole way, and rolled and rolled and rolled until her face was smack dab in the middle of dirty, disgusting rainwater.

Also mud.

“Oh my God! Oh, shit, are you okay?!”

“What the fuck?!” Korra wriggled around and hopped back up to her feet, ignoring the screeching pain all of the bruises that were everywhere why did this happen to day who did she piss off whhhhhhhyyyyyyyyy----oh a pretty lady hit her? She supposed that was...well, better. A guy might’ve weighed more. Or had a bigger bike. Or killed her. “Do you even know how to use a bike path?! Or brakes?! You could’ve killed me!” she said, clutching her head as a sharp pain shot through it. “Aw, hell. I---shit. I need to sit. Got up too fast.”

It was true. She really had gotten up too fast because normal people don’t just hop back on their feet after getting hit with a motherfucking bicycle, Korra. You could have blacked out and made things worse, dumbass. And that pain in your ribs? Probably bruised ‘em. All of ‘em. At the same---shut up, Korra I don’t need this shit from you today.

“I’m so sorry!” The woman winced into a panic and tossed her fancy, probably-a-100-speed bike to the ground. “Okay! Okay, here, let’s just sit down on the stairs here for a minute, and, uhm…” She helped her settle on the steps, the ones Korra had just leapt over, and studied her closely for a moment. “Here, I’ll---I’m so sorry, let me grab your bag. I’ll fix this, that was---I didn’t even see you, it was like you just appeared out of nowhere.”

Korra rubbed her temples and clenched her eyes shut as the lady with the black hair and the green eyes and the blah blah blah frantically gathered her things and meticulously dusted the dirt off of them. And wiped the mud off with moist towelettes that just sort of...appeared?

What?  Was she hallucinating?  

“Yeah, okay, it was an accident. I’m not dead. Spine isn’t broken.” Korra furrowed her brow. “Wait...” She looked up to see...a bike path. Right in front of her dorm. In the same place it had always been. “Oh, fuck me, this is my fault. Geez, you’d think at this point I’d understand the concept of looking both ways before crossing the street, but no! Apparently not!”

The woman snickered but quickly caught herself. “Sorry. That was sort of funny.” She handed Korra her bag and smiled apologetically. “You good? Because if you’re not, I can call a cab. Or an ambulance. It’s...entirely possible that I gave you a concussion. ”

Korra groaned. “No, no, I think I’d know if I had one. And I can call my own,” she said, patting her front right pocket. Which, thankfully, did indeed still have her phone.

“...uhm, no by definition, you would not know if you had a concussion. It’s a very inexact science, even today, and really we should just go and make sure.” She bit her lip. “You know what? It’s safer if I just call for you. Focusing on a screen could cause brain damage. I wouldn’t want to risk brain damage. And not just because I’d be liable! Because brain damage for anyone is bad!”

Korra looked up at her, bewildered. Had they met before? Why was she being so friendly? Why had she been sprinting out of her dorm in the first place? Oh. Oh. “Okay, yeah, but I have to get to class like right now or I’m fucked, so that ER visit is going to have to take a back seat to academics.” She slowly got to her feet, and was assisted totally unsolicited by the crazy friendly lady. “Thanks,” grumbled Korra.

“Don’t mention it,” said the lady, standing far closer than was strictly necessary. What even was today?

“I’m...not going to sue you. You don’t have to be so charitable or friendly or whatever.”

The woman huffed. “Would you rather I be hostile? Am I making you uncomfortable? Christ, this isn’t charity. It’s called being a decent human being.”

Korra screwed up her face and stared at her. “If you say so.” Nobody was that altruistic. Nobody. Except for her roommate that never moved in. Named after a spice, or something? She couldn’t remember which.

The woman flipped out her phone. “Ambulance or cab?”

“Uh, neither. I appreciate it, but I really can’t stay and---” Korra looked down at her mucked up jeans. Mud. Aw, hell. She patted her left butt pocket. Muddy. “Shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Korra reached into her pocket and pulled out a pile of soggy, incomprehensible notecards. “My presentation cards are ruined. Okay. I’m fucked.” She tasted all of the stank she’d tried to mask with deodorant return in her mouth. And nose. And throat. Maybe she should become an ENT---no, that had ears involved and hers were currently clogged with dirt. “Call me a cab. Or an ambulance. Or both. There’s no point in rushing over there now! Can’t do a speech without cards!”

The raised a brow and locked her phone, slipping it back into her pocket. “What’s the topic?” she asked, suspiciously interested.

“Why do you care? You hit me with your bike!”

She groaned. “That’s why I care! I feel super shitty about it and now it’s even worse because I ruined something you probably spent the last two months working on! Goddamnit, and I just fixed up that bike, too.”

“More like two days of work, but sure whatever it’s Sociology of Globalization. Y’know, networking. Unconventional things. Adapt. Large words I pull out of my ass.”

The woman furrowed her brow and snatched the note cards from her. “Networking, huh? When’s the class?”

“Ten minutes ago, but it doesn’t matter because---”

“Shhhh, no. You mentioned large words being pulled out of your ass, right?”

Korra raised a brow. “Your point?”

“I can help. I’m really good at that.”

“Pulling large things out of your ass?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God---do you want help to the ER, or to class? Or should I just leave? Which is it?”

Korra frowned and rubbed her eyes. “The second one, I guess? Again, though, why? And who even are you?!”

The woman smiled. “My name is Asami, and you are one very lucky woman.”

“Well, my name is Korra and you hit me with your bike. And maybe gave me a concussion.”

She blinked. “Well, yes, and again I’m very sorry, but if it had been anyone else, you’d be fucked.”

“Or maybe I wouldn’t have been---”

“Do you want my help or not?!”

 

* * *

 

 

Asami was feeling pretty damn good about herself as she walked the length of the lecture hall. Up and down the aisles, making strong eye contact to every...third person. Not the largest class, so she could make it a bit more intimate. In a sense. Stadium seating, so projection was a must.

The body projected strength while the voice projected intelligence, as her father always said.

“...and through these new social groups and paradigms, many of which were formed during the outset of the Second World War, the modern American dream came to be what it is today. Not one of rugged individualism like the western expansionists of old…”

Asami made eye contact with Korra, who was...well, she’d been gaping for the past hour. Certainly an interesting reaction to the day she was having, that was for sure. Still some dirt in her ears. Asami folded her hands behind her back and made her way back to the podium.

“...but of an idealized lifestyle composed of financial security, a nuclear family, and above all else, self-fulfillment. Self-fulfillment that can, as I’ve stated many times, be outsourced for betterment of all. Cheaper consumer goods, expansion of knowledgebases, classical networking, even deterrence theory. All of these things can be shared, through word of mouth or modern communication ideals, but they are the most effective when you combine both techniques.”

Asami motioned for Korra to stand, and she did, still slack jawed.

“Altruism. Helping those in need for no other reason than the act itself. Like a friend who’s down on their luck, and needs a pinch hitter. Or in this case, a pinch speaker.”

The lecture hall had a bit of an underwhelming response. Scattered clapping, a few cat calls. The usual. The professor, however, a tall man with tortoise shell glasses and slicked back hair, could not have been more enthusiastic. Which was to be expected. He wasn’t a hard man to peg. New Age, judging by his ‘modern’ apparel, and appreciating unconventional education simply on the principle that it was unconventional.

Thus, talking out of one’s ass was encouraged. More or less.

“Well, that’s all the time we have for today, as it seems that Korra and her friend’s presentation simply ate up all of our attention!” chuckled the professor, whose name she had embarrassingly forgotten. Smith? Jones? It was something unremarkable, probably. “I’ll see you all on Wednesday, when we’ll be listening to Karen and Clara’s presentations.”

By the time he’d finished speaking, everyone except Korra was gone.

Asami walked up the aisle and smiled at her. “So, how was that?”

Korra jumped out of her seat and wrapped her in a big, smelly, dirty and ew that was mud, warm hug. “Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you are the coolest person ever can we please go to the ER now because I’m super light headed and dizzy and woozy and lots of words I can’t think of so yeah I might have a concussion.” She took a deep breath and wobbled in her arms. “Also got up too fast again.”

Asami pulled away and raised her brows well into her hairline. “Oh my God. Yes, of--of course, I’m so sorry for going on as long as I did! Yes, let’s go. Let’s make sure you’re okay,”

“Hey, you just pulled a big fat A out of your ass for me. I can stand a little brain damage. Figure it’s an even trade,” said Korra. She gave her a crooked grin.

“Uhm. No.” she said flatly. Asami pulled out her phone and dialed for a cab.

“Right, yeah, that was dumb it’s really not.”

“It really isn’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Funny story: that thing with the weird couple and the pizza boxes actually happened to me during my Freshman year. Made the whole floor smell like bad sex and rancid pizza. Ugh. 
> 
> I'm aware Harold Ramis passed away, and it still makes me sad. I actually grew up in the same town where his family lives. Even got to meet him a bunch of times. But remember he was alive in 2009. 
> 
> Thank you to Sy and Michelle for letting me take a crack at this. Even though it started as a joke, but then I thought, hey, why not? Hopefully this was as funny to read as it was to write, and did your work justice.


End file.
